Superheroes
by Kelso18
Summary: Norman's past was never really explained in the game, so this story follows important parts of his past that made him into the person he was during the game, and may continue after his encounter with the Origami Killer. Eventual Jayden/OC
1. Protection

**Superheroes**

Norman Andrew Jayden was born in a lower-middle class neighborhood to pair of struggling parents on the southern side of Boston. His parents loved him dearly, but didn't have a lot of time to spare for him. His father worked two jobs to help make ends meet while his mother worked hard for her associates degree at a nearby college, and also worked nights at a store near their home. When Norman's mother was home, she would read to him, play with him, try her best to raise a son that would have a better life than she was able to provide, better than what she had become. When they weren't, little Norman became independent quickly, usually passing the time playing with action figures or reading comic books about superheroes that his dad would bring home. He enjoyed the superhero cartoons on TV (especially Superman) and his biggest, greatest wish in the whole world was that one day - one day - he could be a superhero, too. Norman told his father about this dream when he was approaching his sixth birthday. His father told him, "Son, those freaks aren't real. Superheroes don't exist. No one has powers, no one can lift cars, or fly, or take someone out in a single punch. There are heroes in this world, but they aren't super. They're the normal people - just like you, or me, or mom - who work as hard as they can to make life as good as possible for as many people as possible. People like cops, and firemen, and doctors, they save people sometimes, they're especially heroic. But it's just as important that they do their best everyday. That's what matters. _That_ is what makes people into heroes."

When Norman was ten, his mother was diagnosed with stage four terminal cancer. He didn't know what any of it meant. Terminal? Cancer? He was terribly confused. All the hospital trips wore him out, and he rarely got to see either of his parents any more, his dad was too busy working, and his mom was too busy doing… Whatever it was they did in the cold, bright hospital. No one would answer his questions or tell him what was going on. He began to get frustrated - lashing out in school, getting sent home, lashing out there. His dad didn't care, and his mom wasn't around enough to notice. Even when she was home, she would just lay in her bed, watch TV and cry. They never played superheroes together anymore. Norman found her one day, laying in her bed with the curtains drawn, the lights and TV off, bawling into her pillow. He carefully approached her.

"Mommy?" Her sniffles were the only response he got. He tried again, a little louder, "Mommy, are you alright?"

"Oh, sweetie, come here." She extended her frail, pale arms toward the doorway. He padded softly over to her bed in his pajamas, climbing up onto her bed as she beckoned. He laid down facing her, and she took him into her arms. They laid there for a while, her looking at him, stroking his soft brown hair, while he watched her sad blue eyes fill with tears.

"Are you ok, Mommy?" He asked again.

"No, honey. Mommy's not alright, she's very, very sick, do you understand?"

"Like when I get those really bad tummy aches and I can't eat or sleep?"

She smiled sadly at him. "Worse than that. It's a thing called Cancer. It makes you very tired, and every muscle hurts, like after you play a really, really good game of soccer."

"Just like that time where I scored three goals on Johnny Newson's team?"

"Just like it! Johnny's team had no idea what had hit them!"

"They never even saw me! That's what Sam said! The whole team calls me Flash now. Am I as fast as the real Flash, Mommy?"

"Even faster!" Norman laughed his little child's laugh, so pure and full of innocence. His mother watched, smiling, hoping that whatever happened, wherever humans go after they die, that there would always be laughter like that - the laughter of pure happiness. "Normie, can you answer a question for me?"

"Is it math? Cause I'm no good at math…"

"No, it's not math." She chuckled lightly at him, but it was short lived. "Will you take care of Daddy if Mommy goes away?"

"If you go where?" Norman was confused, again.

"A really, really far way away. It'd be a beautiful place, with a beach, and palm trees, and sun. There's birds that sing all the time, and no one ever yells. It's gonna be a great place, and I may not come back for a long time. But you can take care of Daddy for me, right? Can you protect him like Superman protects Metropolis?"

"Better! I promise."

"Alright, I believe you. You'll do a great job. Now, you wanna bring your toys in here, and we can play superheroes!"

"Yeah!"

Norman's mother died a few days later. She went to sleep in the hospital and just never woke up - she had set everything in place for when she was gone and gave up fighting. The family came and went in a blur to Norman, it all happened so fast. The aunts and uncles all commented on how well he was taking it for a boy his age. The grandparents shook their heads sadly, saying he was "repressing." His father was too busy for him anymore. Norman played with his action figures alone, he went to bed alone, and after a while, he cried alone. He cried for his playmate, his best friend, his mother. He begged Batman to fly her back to him from that far away place, but she never came. He begged Superman to save her from what was trapping her there, but she never came. He cried for his lost superhero.

When he was done crying, he got angry. Where were the heroes to save his mother? Why didn't they stop the Cancer from taking her away from him? Why didn't they help? Norman was reminded of what his dad said that day before his sixth birthday: superheroes don't exist.

Close to a week after his mother died, Norman Andrew Jayden gave up on heroes.


	2. Lullabies

A/N: Alright! I finally got the second chapter up! It was a lot more difficult than I expected, but hey! It also wound up a lot longer than I expected, too! So, win/win I guess? hahah! [Special thanks to SodeNoZangetsu for all her help on this chapter!] And, I know you may be angry with me, but…. Norman had a hard life, I'm sorry! It gets… slightly better after this! (maybe…) :)) So, read, enjoy, and review! Please? They make me write faster, I swear :)

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><p>CHAPTER TWO : Lullabies<p>

There was a span of time where everything went back to normal. Well, as normal as things could be without his mother. He was going back to school (alone), doing his homework (alone), and playing (alone). His father worked three jobs, now, and Norman only saw him for a short time just before bed. They rarely talked, most of their time together consisted of sitting in the same room while Norman ate dinner, and his father drank himself into a stupor and watched TV. Every once in a while, his father would grumble about money, or work, or in-laws… But most of the time, he talked to himself about Norman's mother. He would talk to her like she was sitting in the room, with unfocused, glassy eyes.

"I- I don't know what I'm doing anymore… I miss you so much. Why did you have to go like that? I can't raise a kid on my own… I still need you… I always needed you." Solitary tears would roll down his cheeks, and Norman would cast his eyes downward and wish there was something he could do.

About two months after the death of Norman's mother, her parents came back by for a "visit." They spent the entire time away from Norman, talking to his father. Norman didn't know what they were talking about, but he knew it was serious because his father always looked mad. His grandfather was more stone-faced than usual, and his grandmother smiled much less. They left a few days later, and Norman's father stopped drinking at night. They still didn't talk, and the silence was even more tense. His father no longer talked to people that weren't there, he didn't talk at all, except to say goodnight to Norman when he put him to bed.

Norman snuggled into his pillow and clutched his stuffed Superman to his chest - he didn't trust or love him that much anymore, but his mother gave it to him for his birthday, and it had become a habit - while his father walked slowly into the bedroom. His eyes were dark and sad, almost on the verge of tears. Norman wondered why, but knew better than to ask. His father lowered himself onto his son's bed, stroking Norman's hair and forcing a smile, "Goodnight, son."

"Daddy, why were Grammy and Pop here?"

"They wanted to talk to me about some of Mommy's stuff. Wanted to make sure you were doing alright. That we were doing alright."

"They didn't even talk to me while they were here! I was hoping Grammy would take me for ice cream like she always does when she comes. I guess she's still too sad about Mommy for ice cream…"

His father was silent for a while, a dead look in his eyes. "Grammy has been going through a lot, just like you and me. We all miss Mommy very much. I'm sure she just forgot to get you your ice cream. But, her and Pop want you to come stay with them for a while, would you want to do that? She could get you some ice cream, then."

"They do?" His father nodded solemnly. "Yay! Will you come get ice cream with us, too? How long are we gonna stay?"

"Norman, I can't come get ice cream with you - I have to stay here."

"Oh." Norman's excitement deflated instantly and was replaced with confusion.

"They would love for you to come up and stay with them for the summer."

"All summer? But what about you?"

"I'll be … here. Working."

"I can't go without you! Mommy never let me go anywhere alone."

His father turned away from Norman's pleading ice blue eyes, so much like his mother's. "You wouldn't be alone. Grammy and Pop are there. You can have Superman with you, too."

"I don't want to go without you." His voice became determined, and his eyes set like stones.

"We'll figure it all out later, it's not important right now. What is important is that you sleep! You have school tomorrow, you know." Norman's father stood and pulled up the comforter on the bed. It settled around Norman's neck, and his father leaned in to kiss his forehead. "Goodnight, Norman."

"'Night, Daddy." He watched his father flick the lights off and shut the door in a confused silence.

His father shut the door with a few tears rolling down his face. "It's for the best…" he mumbled to himself as he walked down the hallway to the bedroom. "It's all for the best."

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><p>A lot of time went by with neither of them mentioning that night's conversation to each other. Everything was like it always had been - barely seeing each other, barely talking, barely being a family. Norman wished every night on the big, bright star outside of his window that everything could just go back to the way it used to be, but he knew deep down in his little heart that the changes that had just begun where no where near their end. Even at school - his safe-haven from everything that ever got bad at home - was beginning to change. His favorite fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Farley, had recently been let on maternity leave, and the new teacher was a force to be reckoned with. Her name was Miss Edgewood, tall, whip thin, with a severe black haircut, she was the entire opposite of sweet, plump Mrs. Farley. Mrs. Farley still let the fifth graders have nap-times every once in a while; Miss Edgewood was determined to make them learn all day, every day. It made the other students edgy, and school was not the home-away-from-home that Norman had always known it as.<p>

Walking home from school was a prime example. Dejectedly, Norman would walk the fifteen minutes or so on side streets back to his house, not really wanting to go home, not really wanting to stay at school. The kids from his neighborhood would usually be around him, but they would stick to their own groups, leaving Norman to his peace. But when Mark Scotts was around….

"Hey Norrmmmaaaannn, Norman!" Norman slumped his shoulders and turned his head towards the ground, keeping his feet moving as fast as he could. Mark didn't give up. "Where're your friends, Norman? Hmm? They decide you were too weird for them?" Norman cringed, since he had been forced to quit the soccer team when his mother died and his dad got his new job, none of his old friends hung out with him or came around to his house anymore. "You listening to me, Normie? Huh? Cause I don't like it when I get ignored!" Mark's hand connected with Norman's shoulder and Norman stumbled. Blue eyes flashing, Norman turned on Mark.

"What do you want, Mark?"

"I just wanna know what happened to all your friends? Where'd they go?" Mock compassion oozed from every syllable. "They give up on you?"

"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I do, Normaaan. I know that all your friends left you because they think you're too weird to be around!"

"That's not true!"

"Really? Then why did Sam tell me he thought you were soooooo weird now? Cause he did. Ever since your mom left, you got weird, and so now all your friends are leaving you, too."

"Shut up, Mark!"

"How does it feel, Nooorrmmaann, to know that everyone doesn't like you anymore? Not even your mom could stick around!"

"I mean it, Mark! Shut! Up!"

"You mom thought you were so weird that she just up and left one day, isn't that right, Noormmaaann? She couldn't take you any more! What about your daddy, huh? He left, too? Or was it just your stupid, worthless, mothe-"

Norman snapped. He pounced with full force on the slightly taller, slightly larger boy. Mark, not expecting the attack, fell to the ground in a heap of limbs, the smaller boy on top of him, throwing punches wherever he could land them. Blind with rage, Norman kept on pounding fist to skin, fist to skin, fist to skin. Then, suddenly, Norman was on his back and a bloodied Mark towered over him.

"You little brat!" Blood sprayed onto Norman's face. Mark's knee fell into Norman's stomach and forced the air out of his lungs, doubling the smaller boy over. Mark took the opportunity to begin his own assault to Norman's face, breaking his nose and sending a crimson river aglow between the two. Norman screamed in frustration and pain, making the larger boy pause for just a split second, and Norman used that pause to his advantage. He threw his fist into Mark's eye, his knee into Mark's stomach, and pulled himself off the ground and to his feet. For good measure, Norman threw one last kick to Mark's belly.

Before Mark had a chance to retaliate, or even roar in frustration, Norman's sneakers were pounding the sidewalk, heart racing all the way back to his house. By the time the door was shut and locked behind his back, his head and legs throbbed, and his chest burned. He couldn't feel his nose, much less breathe through it, and somewhere along the way he had begun crying. He dropped his backpack to the ground, swiping at his tears as he made his way into the hall bathroom. Norman's shirt was soaked through with blood on the top half and he quickly peeled it off. He turned the tap to cold and splashed his face, inspecting the damage to his nose. This was not something that he could hide from his father, and he knew that the conversation was not one he wanted to have. Of course, it was an inevitable conversation, and about an hour later, Norman's father returned home.

"So, Norman, I've been thinking - oh, my God!" The older man rushed to his son, taking his head between his hands. "Your nose, Norman! What happened to your nose?"

"I - huh, I…" Norman tried to look at anything other than the concerned, prying eyes of his father.

"Did you fall? Are you hurt anywhere else? Anything broken? What happened, Norman, talk to me!"

"I… I got into…. a … a fight, Dad."

"A fight? What the hell, Norman!"

"I'm sorry, Dad, I didn't mean to. I just - He was talking about Mom, and I - I don't know! I couldn't let him say those things! I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry." Against his will, Norman had begun crying again.

"Oh, Norman!" His dad took the little boy into his arms as the boy was wracked with sobs. His hands stroked the boy's hair and rubbed his back as they curled together in the middle of the living room. Slowly, Norman regained control over himself and pushed away from his father's chest, wiping at his eyes and trying to sniffle.

"So, who'd you fight, bud?"

"M-Mark Scotts."

His father laughed lightly at him. "Well, i bet he looks worse off than you. Do you think you can sleep tonight?" Norman nodded. "Alright. We'll take you to the doctor in the morning. He should be able to set your nose back in place, and get you back up and running. Here," a hand extended napkins to the the young boy. "Just keep those on your nose for now. What do you want for dinner, hot dogs?"

"Yeah!" Norman instantly brightened.

The father and son spent that night curled together on the couch, laughing and eating their hot dogs. They fell asleep to a Batman movie, and when Norman's father woke up around midnight to the movie's credits, he shut off the television and carried his injured son up to his bed. He knew, walking back to his own bedroom that this was where everything was going to change. Where everything had to change.

The next morning, the men piled into the car and made a visit to the doctor. Norman's nose was set properly, and bandaged up. His father told him that he didn't need to go back to school that day, and Norman was excited to spend the day away from the questioning eyes of the other students and teachers. He quickly realized, however, that going to school would have been less painful than going home.

When they walked in the door, Norman was greeted by a small squeal from his maternal grandmother. He was taken up into her arms, and squeezed tightly into her chest. "What happened?" She growled.

"He, uh, he got into a fight with another boy." Norman's father scratched the back of his neck agitatedly.

"Why!"

"He said that the other boy was talking about… about his mother." Grammy's arms clenched around Norman's neck tighter. "That's actually the reason I called you all. I think…. I don't think we should wait until the summer."

"Daddy, what are you talking about?" Norman asked around his grandmother's thin form.

"You remember when I was telling you about going to stay with Grammy and Pop for the summer?" Norman slightly nodded. "Well… We think that it would be best for you if… If you go ahead and live with them now."

"What? No!" Norman tore himself away from his grandmother, looking around at the three adults around him. "I'm not leaving you, Dad!"

"Norman, you have to go. This is what is best for you - for all of us."

"No! I won't - I won't leave you!"

His father sighed heavily. "I know it's not what you want right now, Norman, but you'll see. It's what we all need."

"Come on, sweetie, I'll go help you pack you stuff. We'll get what you need for a few days, and we can come back for everything else over the weekend. We've already called the school near our house, they're ready to take you whenever you move up." His grandmother took his hand and began walking upstairs.

Norman jerked his hand from her grasp and bounded to his father, clinging to his leg. "You can't do this! I won't leave you, Daddy! I won't!"

"Son!" His father's voice was deep and commanding. "Go pack your things. I'm not playing. You'll leave with them in the morning. Don't make this harder than it already is." Norman looked up at his father, tears bubbling in his eyes, disbelief evident on his face. "Go pack your stuff, Norman."

His grandmother took his hand again, but before she could lead the way, he bolted up the stairs and into his room, locking the door behind him - he left quick enough to miss the tears rolling down his fathers face. He threw things about his room, creating a huge mess. Eventually, his tears consumed his body, and he fell onto his bed, clutching his stuffed Superman. As Norman's world crumbled around him, he buried his head into his pillow, eyes squeezed shut, and remembered a lullaby his mom used to get him to sleep when he didn't feel well - praying that when the sun rose, it would all be just a terrible, terrible dream.

"Golden slumber kiss your eyes,  
>Smiles await you when you rise.<br>Sleep, pretty baby,  
>Do not cry,<br>And I'll sing you a lullaby…."


	3. Growing Up

**A/N: I am so sorry this took me forever! I ran into some writers block, and then I had leaving my job, packing and moving into college, my birthday, and it just did not work out to where I had writing time. But, I got this chapter up! Updates will probably pretty slow from now on (least until christmas!) but I will still be trying my best! Thank you guys so much for your patience and I hope you liked young Nahman, because I think he'll be gone after this chapter! Reviews make me a very happy person, and I will send you cookies :)**

CHAPTER THREE: Growing Up

In Greek mythology, it is thought that when a person dies, they must pay a toll to the boatman, Charon, to get them across the river Styxs. After the crossing, they had to appease a three-headed dog, Chereberus, before either being sent to a beautiful, sunny, green place called the Elysian Fields, where they could rest in peace, or being punished for all eternity. A story tells of a man, Tantalus, who was the son of the god Zeus. He was a mortal king, yet he was still invited to the Gods' table to dine and listen to the words passed between the immortals. But his vain human spirit could not bear the exquisite burden of unearthly bliss, and he begun to sin against the Gods in a number of ways. He spread their secrets, stole from them, lied to them. He even went so far as to test the Gods, serving his own son up for dinner to see if they really knew all things. The Gods, angered by his endless arrogance, thrust him down to Hades, who punished him with cruel torments. Tantalus was made to stand in the middle of a lake whose waters came to his chin, dying of thirst, yet unable to drink. He also had to endure the pangs of hunger, and though a tree bountiful with fruit arched over him, he could not eat. Finally, he had to endure the constant fear of death, as a giant block of stone forever hung precariously just above his head. This myth is how we came to have the word "tantalize;" and that was exactly how Norman felt: tantalized by the life that he had gained moving in with his grandparents. It felt just like it had before, but it was not the same. He went to school, but it was not the same school. He played outside, but it was not his yard. He knew people, but those people were not his friends. He was not the happy child he used to be and his grandparents couldn't help but notice.

They tried everything to bring him back to how he used to be, but nothing worked. Even when his grandmother tried to play superheroes with him, Norman was listless and distant. They were becoming increasingly worried that this was finally the effects of his mother's death getting to him. In reality, if they had asked Norman what was wrong, he would have told them that he missed his father, and that he needed to be with him, not here. Not with these two people that seemed to know nothing about him other than his name and his favorite flavor of ice-cream.

He knew that he was supposed to love being with his grandparents, that they were supposed to feel like an extension of his family, but they just felt like aliens. He hated it there. The rooms were stuffy and uncomfortable, like the windows hadn't been opened in years. It was bright and heavily decorated, but Norman was not allowed to touch anything other than his toys and the soft furniture. The only time he was ever relaxed was when his grandparents weren't home and he could sit out on the back porch and listen to the sounds of the woods behind their house. He would sit and think of what it would be like to escape this cramped and cluttered house and go live in the woods with the animals. He would think of what his mother told him, what she asked of him that day that felt so long ago now: if he could take care of his father. Norman's chest would feel tight, and he would hold back his tears. _No_, he would think to himself. _Not anymore_.

His unhappiness followed him like a scent, and the other kids at school didn't exactly want to play with the sad and distant boy who sat on the swings, pushing himself around with his feet, not going anywhere. His new teacher, Miss Adelle, watched him with concerned eyes every day. She didn't know what to do with her new student. He was brilliant, she could tell that from the assignments he turned in, but he never talked in class unless directly prompted, he never talked or played with the other kids. She was worried about the boy, and asked him to stay after class one day to talk with her.

"Yes, Miss Adelle?" He tucked his chin into his neck and looked at her with those painfully morose blue eyes. He was concerned that he had done something wrong, and even more concerned that he didn't know what it was.

"Would you like to have a seat?" She gestured to a nearby chair. He nodded and sat obediently. "So, Norman, how are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Ever polite little Norman swung his legs back and forth on the chair.

"Really? I'm glad to hear that. Because you don't seem fine. Is everything alright at home?"

His big eyes blinked back at her for a moment. He didn't know what to say. He had no real issues at home, except that he didn't live with his father and he hated his grandparents for separating them. "I…. I guess so."

"You guess so?"

"I mean… I don't know. Doesn't feel like home."

"What do you mean?" Norman shrugged, eyes on the ground. "You can talk to me, Norman, it's alright."

"it's just… ever since my mom got sick, nothing has been the same. I don't even live with my dad anymore; I live with my grandparents out here. And it's just… I told my mom that I'd take care of him, but I can't do that when they take me away. I just want everything to go back to normal."

There was silence for a moment. "Do your grandparents know this, Norman?"

Norman shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. But I think they'd rather not know. They'd rather pretend I'm upset because of my mom and not because of them."

"I really think that you need to talk to them about this. They may be more understanding than you think." He cast his eyes away from her gaze and sighed. "Actually, consider that your homework for this weekend. Talk to them about how you feel and we'll meet again Monday after school. Same place. I'll bring some food."

Norman gave her a small smile as he stood and grabbed his stuff. Miss Adelle continued talking as he turned to go. "You know, Norman, it wouldn't hurt to get close to some of the other kids here. You never know, you may find it worthwhile." He paused for a moment, but didn't respond as he continued to walk out of the room.

Norman took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he walked down the long hall way. That conversation was not have he needed right now, with all the other questions and confusion swirling around inside his brain. He no longer knew how he should feel about this place. It was nice, but it was not his home - it was not what he knew and loved, and he hated it for that very reason. Seeing large double doors propped slightly open, he jumped on the opportunity and slid inside.

He sat down in one of the comfy chairs near the back of the auditorium. He didn't want t go back to is grandparents house. He vaguely wondered how long it would take him to walk back to his father's house. Pushing the thought away as ridiculous, he examined the room around him. It was not a large place, the auditorium, big enough for about 350 people, but for a smaller school it was all they needed. It was filled with plush red chairs, dark walls, carpet, and ceiling, and heavy red curtains framing a stage awash with light. A beautiful grand piano sat majestically, like a king over his kingdom, slightly off center on the raised platform. He returned his eyes to his hands folded in his lap, sensing another presence in the room. He didn't look up. He did not want to deal with another heart-to-heart this afternoon - he had enough to work out on his own. Presently, he was caught up in thinking of all the reasons he didn't want to go home. Or, what was loosely referred to as his home.

A melancholy chord struck and the quiet room was suddenly alive with music. Norman jumped slightly, but tried to ignore it. Quickly, the piano music quieted itself and settled into a deep, slow rhythm with sad and haunting notes. It melded into the background of the room and served as a kind of soundtrack to Norman's sour mood and thoughts. "If only's…" ran through his head like a freight train.

If only Mark hadn't teased me….

If only I hadn't hit him…

If only my friends had stuck around…

If only Dad wanted me…

If only I was a better kid…

If only Mom hadn't died…

Norman suddenly noticed that the music had stopped. He wondered how long it had been so achingly quiet in the auditorium. His cheeks felt hot, his eyes felt puffy, and beads of something warm and wet fell onto his folded hands. It took him a minute to realize he was crying. Hastily, he wiped his cheeks with his sleeve.

"Why so glum, chum?" As if by magic, a boy who looked a few years older than himself suddenly appeared in the seat to the left of Norman.

"Wh- What?"

"Why so glum, chum?" The boy repeated slowly. Norman's blue eyes stared blankly at the boy. "Why are you so sad looking?"

"Oh. I guess… because I am sad." He phrased it almost as a question. Norman was confused as to where this boy came from and why he was talking to him.

"Wanna talk about it?" Norman wiped his eyes of any stray tears and shook his head. "Didn't think so. My name's Jake."

"I'm Norman."

Jake couldn't hide the sly smirk that crossed his features. "Well… Norman. You wanna know what always makes me feel better?" The younger boy's eyebrows furrowed in question as the other boy's face split into a wide grin. "Come with me."

Anxiously, Norman followed this new boy down the aisle and up onto the stage, growing ever more confused as Jake placed himself proudly on the piano's bench. Norman's head cocked to the side, and he wondered if this boy had been the cause of the music earlier.

"Have you ever played a piano before?" Norman shook his head no. "It's really not hard. You just push the keys down in a way that makes it sound good. Like this." Jake's fingers pressed down a few white keys and the room reverberated with the same melancholy chord from before. "And then, you put another couple keys in the mix," he pressed down a few more keys, higher this time, "and then you use the keys around them to make a song." He replayed a bit of what Norman had heard earlier. "See? And the cool thing is that you can make whatever kind of sound you want. I played something sad because you looked sad. When I'm sad, I try and play something happy, like this." Light and bight notes filled the room in an extremely upbeat rhythm. Jake made a few silly faces at the younger boy, and was delighted to see Norman smile and laugh. As he finished playing, both boys were giggling. "Wanna give it a try?"

"Yeah!" Norman took a seat on the bench next to Jake.

"Okay, just,put your fingers where mine are." Their fingers moved to mimic each other. "Good. Now, just start playing anything around there. You'll know what sounds good and what doesn't. Just feel the music and let it flow."

Norman began to play a piano for the first time in his life. He played wrong notes, but he didn't care. He started off with something happy, something easy to get him used to the feel of the cool keys beneath his fingertips. He moved into something more mellow after that, something that reflected his feelings in as true a sense as he could manage. He had no idea how long he sat there on an empty stage playing for an audience of one, but by the time he paused to regain himself, Jake was asleep on one of the front row chairs. He looked down at his hands on the keys and smiled.

For the first time since his mother died, Norman felt normal.

For the first time in a long time, he felt happy.


End file.
